The Portrait of a Buttfaced Miscreant
by LovelessRaven
Summary: She wasn’t that kind of girl. She was quiet and unassuming and smelled books. She did not think about ravishing blondes—one in particular—every time her eyes were set on his.
1. I'll Call You

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Logan. But I don't. I do not own any of these characters. They belong to Amy-Sherman Palladino and gang. This is purely for entertainment reasons only.

This is in response to a challenge by Jennifer over at Rory and Logan's fanfiction site, Illusive. It hasn't been uploaded yet but I wanted to spread it around. It was to base a story upon a quote:

_"Kissing is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when word become superfluous."_

if people like this story, I will definitely continue.

**The Portrait of a Butt-faced Miscreant **

"I wanted to kill him!"

Marty gulped as he stared at Rory Gilmore's murderous glare. "Down there, kitty."

Rory blew a strand of her chocolate brown hair out of her face, her blue eyes piercing with unhidden fierce contempt. "No! I mean it Marty, I really felt complete and total hatred for him. If I could have wrung his neck, taken his eyes out of his sockets and made sure he was never gratified or happy for any moment of his skanky, whore-filled life I would have. I mean, he didn't even have the decency to apologize! The whole thing was my fault because I was too uptight!"

"Now, Rory, violence—"

One look from Rory and Marty clipped his mouth shut. "Right. Anyway, you need to control your rage. Especially when it comes to all things Logan Huntzberger," Marty laughed uneasily, not liking the look in her eyes.

"I need to get back at him. This won't just stay like this. Logan Huntzberger is going to regret messing with me!"

"Yeah, well—"

"Can you answer me one thing, Marty? Why are all men like this? It's like you take some kind of evil, perverse thrill over embarrassing them?! What on earth makes you think that it is charming and comedic?!"

Marty gulped, and knew much better then to argue with an angry Rory Gilmore. "We're sorry," he offered apologetically.

"As you all should be. You're idiotic."

Marty nodded solemnly. "Completely."

"Sophomoric."

"The majority."

"Useless!"

"Hey now—"

"Hate, hate, _hate_ men."

"Now, now. You know you love me," Marty teased, trying his best to uplift her spirits. He didn't know why it annoyed him so much, knowing that Logan could get to her so badly.

"Humph. You belong to their gender. I think that's quite enough reason."

Marty looked at her consolingly. While the last thing he wanted to do was have a conversation with Rory based on Logan, he'd rather it be anger-induced rather then having her admit what he secretly knew—that she was falling for Logan just as much as he was, her.

"I think I know what you need," Marty decided triumphantly. "You need more coffee."

A small smile danced on Rory's lips. "Sorry for lashing out at you."

Marty shrugged. "It's what I'm here for."

"You're such a good friend, Marty."

Rory didn't notice his smile falter as he walked away.

Instead, her mind returned to think about the blonde-haired, brown-eyed man—He Who Shall Not Be Named. She knew why she was so angry, of course. But wouldn't dare admit it to Marty, or anyone else for that matter. She would live in heavenly denial because it was better then admitting it.

Rory had lived her entire life as an intensely private girl. She was logical, and she needed to have her life planned out, to the very last detail of her entire existence. Every aspect needed to be ordered and no surprises would steer her off course. She had her goals and was driven enough to go after them. She liked reading and was fond of poetry. She was addicted to books and coffee, _not_ to Logan Huntzberger. Who cared of he was handsome and charming? She wasn't _that _kind of girl. She was quiet and unassuming and smelled books. She did _not_ think about ravishing blondes—one in particular—every time her eyes were set on his.

Rory was accustomed to fitting the good girl role. She liked playing her because it was safe. She was safe inside her books and her academic ambition. She was safe with Paris and Marty and the life she had made for herself at Yale. Logan and his world… they were anything but safe.

A thought popped into her head, and she smiled deviously as she began cooking up her plan of attack.

Logan wouldn't know what hit him.

Logan had always vowed he'd never let anyone see what they would never understand. He would never, ever open himself up to what he knew would leave him stripped to who he was. Because, surely, they would expose those wounds, just for the sheer gratification of seeing the smart-aleck playboy was capable of feeling.

He was safe inside the womanizing charmer. He was practically venerated like fucking god, not a little boy who had no idea how to love or what to do.

He hadn't wanted anyone to see the truths that he tried so hard to fade away. It was truly what he'd wanted.

And then she came along.

She wasn't like any other beautiful girl. She was smart and wonderful and kind, and never took crap. There's something about the way he felt she could see right through him. It intrigued him thoroughly, to say the least.

He'd studied Rory Gilmore. Loved her quirky, mile-a-minute way of speaking, the way she'd always tug at the corner of her lower lip with her teeth every time she was nervous, the serious concentration she'd employ every time she'd read a book, the sweet way she'd treat her friends, and kindness. She was effortlessly kind, even if she didn't try to be—even if it wasn't with him. Rory had a large effect on him, more so then he was ever willing to admit. It was weird, how deeply he cared about what she thought.

It was not just weird, but pathetic. Because he was Logan. Totally confident. He never needed to try; girls were always flocking to him. And this beautiful girl, that seemed to him unreachable somehow, left him a mumbling incoherence. She was really oblivious to her beauty—she had no idea what she truly looked like. It had almost been instinct, the way he'd flirt with her, the way he'd just blurt things out, things that came genuinely from deep inside of him, as if it were the easiest thing to do. Playing a prank on her, while stupid, was impulsive because he wanted her to notice, wanted her to remember that he existed.

Truly, truly pathetic.

And clearly, not the way to Rory Gilmore's heart.

He knew he should stay away. He hated tangled webs. He hated strings. He'd always been repulsed by the idea of an actual relationship. Logan had always stressed his need to be free and independent.

And yet…

He found himself wanting to be around her. Not because he'd wanted to sleep with her like he had with so many other girls. Of course, he was insanely attracted to her, wanted her like he'd never wanted anyone in his entire life. But it wasn't the only reason. Logan just wanted to know the remarkable person that he knew was inside of her. Her favorite food, what made her laugh, or cry, what hurt… he actually wanted to learn about the books she read, simply because she liked them so much. Wanted to be able to hold an intellectual conversation with her because she was so goddamn smart. Wanted to rip out Marty's arm every time it would encase Rory's shoulder. Wanted to have her in his arms all day and keep her. Have her belong to him, as caveman as he sounded.

He wanted to show her the world because she seemed to sheltered, and challenge her to what he knew she could be. He was just so certain that underneath her quiet surface there was hidden fire waiting to be incensed. There was contained passion and an almost edge to her he knew was just waiting to get out.

And Logan also knew he was the person to make the real Rory Gilmore come out and play.

Case and point, she had gotten him back good. And enlisted her grandfather's help, no less.

And almost as if his mind had willed her into reality, he noticed she was sitting inside of the library, as always, a thick book in front of her as he scribbled in her notepad furiously.

Logan grinned felinely. Time to get Rory Gilmore talking to him again.

And Logan never backed down from what he wanted.

"Hey there, Ace."

Rory groaned in disbelief, cursing her fate. She didn't need to turn around to see who was there. She could perfectly envision Logan hunched over her seat, his face near her ear as he whispered his so-called smooth words.

Oddly enough she was not disappointed at the close distance between them. She was slightly preoccupied at her heart racing wildly and her breath was catching in her throat as she felt his mouth near her ear.

He seemed to be having similar thoughts to hers, because he turned to look down at her hesitantly, and because she was frozen, she couldn't move. He shifted, almost unnoticeably, and yet his nose was brushing hers

"Logan. You do know you're in the library, don't you?" she asked, feigning shock, eyes wide as saucers.

He smirked. "Cute," he answered, sitting across from her and grabbing one of her books. "What are you doing?"

And as he neared her, she was surprised by the feeling of electric current inside of her. It made her heart flutter inside of her rib cage, and her toes curl deliciously. It made her aware of everything, as if all her senses multiplied ten fold, as if Logan's presence multiplied as well—his stride, his poise, his almost elegance at the way he carried himself demanded your attention wherever he was.

"Studying. Foreign concept, I know," she added once she saw the face he made to portray his distaste.

"Ah, Rory. You really should stop wracking your brain with all of this useless information. And instead, fulfill your time in something much more worthwhile. So, what do you say? You. Me. Shower sex."

"Logan…"

"I am sorry for the prank, Rory. Which is why we need make-up sex. You are my fiancé, after all."

She flushed, giving him the anticipated reaction. The red, a mixture of blush and anger, reached her cheeks and made her look adorable. "I can't believe I ever entertained the thought of you being anything other then an arrogant self-serving jerk."

He grinned at her cheekily. "Thoughts of me entertain you, Ace?"

She glared at him. "Of course they do. Every time I picture myself hurting you violently in a variety of different ways makes me heart overspill with glee. In fact, right about now, I'm practicing, unbeknownst to you, a very widely known form of Chinese torture. Involves claws, I'll have you know."

"Kinky! I knew you were wild inside."

She rolled her eyes, standing up and proceeding to put all of her materials in her bag, trying hard not to look at him. His feet were resting in the table, one on top of the other, his hands in the back of his head and the smirk set in his face. As it always was.

She wanted to wipe if off his damn mouth along with his sexual innuendos and unnecessary existence.

"Whatever."

"Where ya going?" he asked confused, standing up and following her lead.

"Away from you," was what she answered.

Logan amusedly watched her as she walked away in her confident strut. "I'll call you!"

Feedback is very much adored.


	2. A Little Bit of Swooning

Author's Note: I am truly shocked and grateful to all of the feedback I received. I adore it, and I promise that as long as you read, I will continue to write. I love Rory/Logan and have gotten inspired to write for them. I hope you enjoy. And I wanted to add, to the person that commented she hoped Logan and Rory wouldn't get drunk: I promise you they won't. I don't think it's in character for Rory either. In fact, it's two OTHER people that get drunk and have a little party… but that's later in the story (grins wickedly). Thank you!!

CHAPTER 2

_We did not change as we grew older; we just became more clearly ourselves. _

_Lynn Hall_

If asked why she wanted to be a journalist, Rory would jump in to answer because she was probably Christiane Amanpour's biggest fan.

She'd grown up a cultured girl. She'd learned of the world through the confinement of the town that was Stars Hollow. Ever since she was a little girl she'd known of Faulkner, Dumas, Thoreau, and of Kierkegaard. Had grown a fascination for science and history (a respect for Isaac Asimov and a new love for Dan Brown), and even now, a college student, Rory would dedicate at least one day of the week to her grandfather, Richard. They would learn and talk about history, politics, society, economy, and of art.

She had always admired and adored her grandfather's passion for knowledge, similar to Rory's. And one Sunday a month, Richard Gilmore and his closest friends—all a part of the elitist group in Hartford—would gather around his oval table. Emily had bought it for him, imported from India, the majesty of the wood and the beauty of its antiquity was definitely something to behold.

Richard Gilmore had many powerful allies, and some very close and treasured friends. A respectable figure and a prominent businessman, he was admired for his brilliancy. He and his friends might as well have had their own secret society. All of them would play an instrument; they would talk about politics, of history and philosophy, or Richard Gilmore's favorite subject, finance.

A lot of his speeches to Rory—be it his political frustration or his economical rants, came flashing to her mind as she stared blankly at her computer screen. And nothing would come of it.

She loved the class she was writing the essay for, as well. College fit her, maybe in different ways then other people. She didn't party every Thursday through Sunday, didn't go around having casual sex, and she definitely wasn't joining a sorority, but it still fascinated her, the environment she was surrounded in constantly. She loved seeing the doctors-in-training sitting around in the benches over going their study notes. She enjoyed seeing the poets sitting down in the trees sipping their lattes and passionately discussing Donne. She liked the carefree, easy going manner in which the sport team would horse around with each other, running from one side of the campus lawn to the other. There were myriads of people, all of different shapes and colors. They all seemed to be having fun in their own distinct way.

Noticing her coffee mug was close to being finished, she stood up and stretched while she did so, a yawn escaping her. She'd awakened in the wee hours of the morning, suddenly inspired to begin her paper, and had hit a rough patch through and had stared at the screen until she saw her pink-furred clock (courtesy of one Lorelai Gilmore) was blinking near nine. Eager to get away from her room for a while, she grabbed her jacket and headed out her of her room.

Rory peered towards Paris, who seemed to have picked out a new-hobby-for-the-week. Knitting, apparently, was another form of relaxation and mind stimulation. And so, she was sitting cross-legged on the couch, listening to a meditation tape and all the while attempting disastrously to knit a mantelpiece. No matter how many times she seemed to ferociously put the needles together, the result was fruitless and the yarn did not seem to be joining any time soon.

Seeing as how Paris would probably blame this mishap on Rory's appearance, she decided to make a bee-line towards the door, leaving before she could be questioned.

"Gilmore."

Rory groaned inwardly, hesitating. She could, of course, feign deafness for a moment there and sprint towards the door. Run to the library and maybe catch up with Marty. And instead, she turned around and turned to Paris expectantly. "Hey."

Her eyes finally focused on Paris' surroundings. And it wasn't the meditation tape or Paris' lethal hands trying obtusely to knit that caught her attention.

It was the millions of red, white, and a mixture of red-white roses that adorned the entire living room in different vases and shapes.

"Is it your birthday today, Gilmore? I was quite surprised because I have nothing of your birthday being today recorded in my agenda," she inquired, raising her meticulous eyebrow as her slim legs crossed and uncrossed themselves until she found her preferred position.

Rory frowned. "It's not my birthday… why?"

Paris shrugged. "These flowers seem to be a gift to you. And a rather big present was sent to you along with them."

She tried hiding the shock, tugging at her long sleeves. "Really?"

Paris sighed, and it was Rory's cue to know she was becoming frustrated. "Yes, really."

_Ace:_

_I gallantly admit defeat._

_I appraise your skilled tactics._

_L_

"Rory? Rory!"

"What?"

"Why do you have such a ridiculously goofy smile on your face?"

Rory attempted to put on a serious face. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes narrowed to the center of her couch, where a gift box lay with a beautiful red bow.

"Over-the-top. That's Logan, eh?" Paris asked sarcastically. "You know what they say about men being like roses, Rory… you need to watch out for the pricks!"

"I didn't say they were from Logan."

"You didn't need to," Paris sniped, Rory's obtuseness garnering another eye roll from Paris. "Unlike some people who are encased in their wonderful denial and blind naivety, I don't need to be hit with a hammer to know if was Prince Charming's blatant attempt at seduction. You really should read a book, Rory. Or at least do us all a favor by buying yourself a clue."

Rory ignored her, taking her gift and closing the door on Paris, sitting on the bed and carefully opening the box, that had attached a beautiful red rose on the corner. She gasped, almost berated herself for being so emotionally full at the sight. Inside of the box were a beautiful, new pair of ice skates.

And, not for the first time, Rory had to wonder what Logan Huntzberger was up to.

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"Dude, no."

"Uh, _yeah._"

"Nuh-uh."

"Totally."

"Jennifer Lopez is _so _not hotter than Beyonce."

"Beyonce is just a cheap imitation!"

"J-Lo was a rough draft!"

"Beyonce's tits are bigger!"

Logan sighed with frustration, , drumming his fingers idly against the table as he muted Colin and Finn's conversation. He was absolutely certain one had to pass this way if they wanted to get to the library. And if he knew Rory Gilmore, she always wanted to be in that damn library. He was anxious to see her face after his little surprise.

"Hey, Logan."

Annoyed, Logan turned around to face Finn. "_What!?_"

"The cute blonde is staring at you again."

"So?"

"So?" Finn asked in disbelief. "Dude, that girl's _fine_. And, if you're thinking about your reporter girl? She's, you know, actually smart. What's she gonna do with a player like you?"

"Thanks," Logan retorted sarcastically.

"I'm just sayin'. The blonde's dee-lish. And obviously, by the looks she's withering your way, she's looking to have a good time with you. I know all the signs. And she doesn't have enough neurons to know you're nothing but trouble."

"Ever thought about the fact I'm not interested?"

"Logan, have I taught you _nothing?_" Finn asked with irritation. "You never say no to free sex, you ass face, especially free sex with a hot girl. I thought I'd never have to even say this. Maybe to Colin, but never to you!"

Colin turned to him, wounded. "Hey!"

Logan momentarily ignored Colin's ego, and turned to Finn.

"What about you?"

"What _about _me?"

"Seems you're not so popular anymore, _bro_. Haven't heard of any latest conquest. Aren't there any more girls stupid enough to take your sorry ass?"

Finn sneered, "I beg to differ."

Logan grinned cheekily. "I'm sure you beg for many things."

Finn slapped the back of Logan's head with strong force.

Before Logan could pounce, he rubbed his head and noticed the awaited brunette walking towards the coffee stand. He unconsciously grinned as he ignored his friend's questions, walking up towards her.

"Morning Ace, did you like my gift?" Logan asked, jumping easily into the conversation.

"Thank you for the flowers and skates, Logan, they're really nice but…"

"Don't swoon on me now," Logan teased.

She glared at him. "I did not swoon. There was _no_ swooning."

"In effect, there was a little swooning."

She turned her piercing blue eyes towards his. "What are you doing?" she asked. Her voice held no anger nor condescension, just complete bafflement and wonderment.

"Do you always think everyone has an ulterior motive for everything that they do?"

"Well… no."

"Just me."

Rory shifted uncomfortably. "Logan, we're completely different."

"Well, yes."

"And I could never be friends with you and your posse."

"Posse?" he mimicked, mocking innocently her choice of words. "Okay, look, if you gave us a chance, a real chance, I'm sure you'd love us."

She smirked up at him, arms crossed in similar stance as he. "Listen, buddy. I'd have to be deranged. Mentally incapacitated, cerebrally impeded, lost of all sense of judgment and on top of that, drunk."

"Ouch." Logan made a face, as he twisted an imaginary dagger in his heart. He later straightened, giving her an infuriating, albeit delectable, grin. "Eh, that's all right. I'm a patient man, Ace."

"Logan? Don't think I've forgotten what you and your friends did. Psychology class? Something along the lines of…" she paused, trying her best to attempt an Australian accept, " 'Damn it Gilmore, give 'em back their balls?' "

Logan chuckled again, just remembering. "They are not that bad."

Almost as if a cruel joke on fate's part, Finn and Colin were passing by them, waving at Rory with a smile before continuing on with their antics. Their voices were loud and clearly trying to please the crowd, who was eating it all up. Their intended target was Doyle, whom Logan had mentioned was a little uptight—Finn and Colin were working on correcting such notion.

"Oh, man!" Colin breathed, covering his face.

"Damn it, Doyle let one rip, ladies and gents…"

"… and clearly he ate something foul and nasty. Doyle, lay low on the tacos!"

"Yeah, Doyle, lay off the cheese."

Finn looked towards the girls sitting near them. "Somebody spank me!"

…case and point.

Rory raised her eyebrow, daring him to prove her wrong. Though it was satisfying to see her boss so flustered.

"Okay, so Finn and Colin are a little… special. And, yeah Finn has his own special name for his supposed mojo and yeah, his sole cerebral function is brain farts but…" his voice trailed, a smile on his own face appearing as he saw her giggle softly. "But they're good guys."

"You know… the way you hate me really wounds me," Logan commented, blocking her way as his face was inches away from hers. He was currently sporting a very adorable smile on his face. She however, would not admit this. She would never tell him this smile made him look boyish and sexy all at the same time, that his eyes grew darker, fiercer somehow, and made females want to pound on him. Because that would mean defeat—and she'd never be defeated by 'Logan Huntzberger, all hail the golden boy.'

Rory sighed. "Logan, I can't accept your presents."

"You didn't ever expect anyone giving you such lavish presents? I guess Marty is a little far behind on knowing how to please his woman, huh?"

She was chewing her lip, lost in her own reflections as a blush reached her cheeks. It was odd, but endearing, to see there were still females that blushed. He wondered, definitely not for the firs time, what way he'd use to kiss her—would he worship her mouth in ways she'd only dreamed of? Would it be frantic and longing? Or methodically, reverently exploring her mouth, making her whimper? He stared longingly at her soft lips, knowing they'd be the end of him one day. He'd probably want to make her knees weak—an incessant hunger but making sure he was… taking care of her. Like he secretly wanted to. He really wanted to explore every inch—

"Logan..."

"What?"

She was taken aback by his far away tone. "It's a lot of money."

"Eh."

"Spent on me."

"Most definitely."

She stopped their quick banter to stare at him with confusion. _"Why?"_

The playful smirk evaporated from his face, and the dance his eyes were holding seemed to come to a halt. He stared at her pensively for a minute, and she had to remind herself to breath. He tucked a strand of Rory's dark hair behind her ear, shaking his head in an almost humored pain as his eyes changed on a whim. It had gone from tender amusement to reverent contemplation to protective wonderment to confusing annoyance. Just why, exactly, was this girl so alluring to him? He'd been in the presence of other beautiful girls before. Some older, some far more worldly and all of them definitely more experienced. Why was she so different from them? Why did she manage to get to him?

His voice was filled with unguarded affection, and almost took her aback with its emotion. "Silly girl."

"Logan—"

"I'm a Huntzberger. Half the time I get money thrown at me, so much I don't even need. If I want to make a nice gesture then shouldn't I be able to, no ulterior motive?"

"Nice gesture is donating money to an orphanage or a hospital. Over-the-top displays of… of…"

"Affection?" he interjected, a playful grin dancing around his face.

Rory rolled her eyes. "Bribery fits better."

"Why is it so hard for you to believe I have good intentions?"

"Because you never do?"

Logan sighed with frustration. "You're accepting them."

She stopped fidgeting to stare at him. "I can't, Logan."

"My family donates a hefty sum to all and any foundations that they find. Not for their good, kind, noble hearts, mind you. It just comes with the old rich venue—you have, you help. Keeps you in the good name and all. I plan on giving you things like these, whether you like it or not, Lorelai Leigh Gilmore. And what's more is you will accept them, because I most certainly will not take them back."

Rory stared at him with wide-eyed wonder. "Wait a second—"

"Furthermore, a car will pick you up at your house tomorrow—punctuality is key, if I remember correctly—at eight o'clock and those skates will really come in handy. Wear something casual but warm, of course," he finished, flashing his pearly whites, charmingly resting his hands in his pockets as he turned to walk away.

"Logan!" she called after him, stunned he had rendered her speechless.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Ace!"

She would be _damned_ if she let him get the last word this time, as well. "LOGAN!"

He finally turned around, surprised at her tone.

She walked towards him, until they were eye to eye.

All he knew and felt was her body pressed on his, the faint smell of her hair, of strawberries and vanilla, the soft contact of her arm with his. She was getting under his skin. And it was a _bad_ idea.

How on earth did she manage to stay so poised when he felt so stupidly nervous and confused inside? How had he turned into a high-strung incoherent idiot?

And finally, she graced him with a smile. "Logan? I don't hate you at all."


	3. Beefy Bertha

**CHAPTER #3**

_If you judge people you have no time to love them. _

_Mother Teresa  
_

"We feed on love. We let go of our anger. We say no to violence. Grow from pain. Say it with me people-_-Grow from pain._"

Doyle had decided to indulge Paris, echoing along with her, "Grow from pain."

Logan rolled his eyes, wondering how on earth he had been cajoled to this particular situation. He was Logan Huntzberger. He drank when the occasion called for it, debated eloquently and intellectually whenever the chance, and delightfully manifested his stereotypical belief with snobbery. He did not let a short, though very Francis Farmer-esque, lunatic cajole him into joining a meditation circle. "What the fu–"

Paris raised a patronizing eyebrow. "There is no need for profanity in the circle of meditation, Huntzberger."

Logan scowled prettily, and turned to Rory, who shrugged helplessly. The four of were sitting in a circle, all with their legs crossed and their arms outstretched, their palms upward and eyes closed, each of them having their index finger connect with their thumb. How had Paris talked them into this, anyway? The only reason Logan was even staying was for the sole purpose of seeing Rory Gilmore.

"Concentrate!" Paris shouted.

That and the fact that he feared Paris' blow.

Paris regained composure, moving her head from one side to the next to relieve the stress, and inhaled deeply. "Now, sometimes it helps to use a visual, not only what it is but what it represents, and how you feel about it. I want each of you to think of your favorite place, or something that reminds you of a time of what you like and feel comfortable with. It has to please you, it _needs_ to demand your attention. And pick a color," Paris instructed.

Paris noticed the silence, opening her eyes and observing the reluctant faces. Glaring at Doyle, he hastily answered. "Green."

Paris turned to Rory expectantly. "Um... blue?"

Paris rolled her eyes. "Typical."

The three turned and looked at Logan expectantly. "Well?"

Rory nudged Logan with her elbow, who sighed with exasperation. "Gold."

Their expectant looks turned to one of confusion.

"What? I like it," Logan defended.

"You would," Doyle muttered grumpily.

Logan grinned at him cheekily. "Some have better taste then others. It is a gift. You might acquire it one day, my good friend, Doyle."

Doyle bit his inner lip and attempted to return a smile.

"Okay. Connect with the color. You are a stream of water. Be the color. Your fingers are feathers," Paris breathed, seeming really into it.

"I'll show you a finger," Logan muttered.

Rory tried to hide a smirk, until Paris glowered at her, and she closed her eyes again, tightly shut.

"You have each picked a color that is unique to you for personal reasons. You must keep it locked in your mind, focus on your breathing, and wonder why you chose it. What is the personal meaning behind the color?"

Before any of them could answer, there was an insistent knock on Paris and Rory's dorm room. Paris grumpily looked at it, standing up and turning to her three apprentices. "Don't move. And continue connecting with your color!"

Logan turned to Rory with fright. "Her deranged craze interlaced with psychotic instability is seriously beginning to disturb me."

Paris opened the door and turned to the two men expectantly. "You're interrupting a very important meeting."

"We're here for Rory and Logan," one said, with an Australian accent.

"They're busy."

"Interesting..."

"Do you have a point?" Paris asked with frustration.

Finn grinned felinely. "Feisty. I like."

"Answer quickly."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Logan and Rory will meet you when we're done."

"But–"

Paris shut the door before Finn could finish.

"That was rude," Logan huffed.

Paris ignored him, going back to her place of nirvana on the floor. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes..."

Logan sighed. Enough was enough. He was Logan, and he wouldn't stand for being handled around by a short midget with mental issues. Rolling his eyes, he jabbed Rory gently. She opened one eye and turned to him. Logan was walking towards the door, motioning for Rory to follow him. She looked over at Paris and Doyle, who seemed completely submersed in the meditation. Quietly she got up, Logan grabbed her hand and the two fled from the room.

"Open yourself to the message. What does it bring you?" Paris asked.

"I feel familiar," Doyle suggested.

They were met with silence.

Paris opened her eyes and later sighed with annoyance. "Where'd the lovebirds go?"

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Outside of the dorm, Rory and Logan were still laughing as they walked away. Finn and Colin were standing near by, still with perturbed looks on their faces.

"What on earth was going on there?" Colin asked as the four walked to where Rory knew would lead them to the pub.

"My friend, I'd tell you, but I'd have to kill you," Logan quipped.

The morning had prolonged for Rory, who had surprisingly finished her essay quickly after Logan's little stunt. The afternoon had rolled by, and that was when she had found Paris talking to Doyle and Logan, who'd just entered the dorm room.

A fatal mistake, he'd assured her with forlorn.

"It seemed mighty fun," Finn quipped with curiosity. "And the girl's a hellion."

"It was a blast," Logan quipped with sarcasm. "But Ace saw a different side to me, didn't you Ace?"

"You're not that bad to hang around when you get past the egotistical narcissism."

"Thanks, there, Ace," Logan responded dryly.

Rory shrugged her shoulders. "I try."

Rory took off her scarf as she sat down, Colin and Finn joining her while Logan stayed standing up, looking at her expectantly. "So, what will you have?"

Before Rory opened her mouth, Logan was snapping his fingers. "Right. Coffee. Coming up."

Rory stared after him thoughtfully. True to his 'rep', he was a smart ass aleck with quick wits and cocky tendencies. Other times, though… she noticed he was calm, pensive, quiet. He was definitely a moving force, a storm on its wake. She reckoned all his life he'd been used to stirring the pot. And when their eyes met-it was unsettling, in a really weird, good kind of way. No one had ever unsettled her before, no one ever made her entire body feel hot just by a look. It made her nervous, it threw her off balance, it kept her on her toes–and she wasn't quite sure she liked it very much. Rory just didn't know how to deal with it. She knew everything she needed to know about biology, about numbers, about almost every literary book known to mankind. She liked taking the complicated root of life, but humanity was totally out of her reach in that sense. Especially when it came to the opposite gender.

"She's doing the lip thing," Rory heard Colin whisper to Finn.

"Could she be bored with us?"

"Ignoring us?"

"Still irrefutably clinging to our prank, you think?"

"Most obviously."

"It'll take something big to get her talking."

"Logan related, of course."

"The Beefy Bertha story?"

Colin gasped. "Not that story. Logan would wring our necks."

Rory smiled in amusement. "Beefy Bertha story?"

Both quieted down in unison, their heads flipping towards her.

"Should we risk it?" Colin asked in a high whisper.

Finn grinned. "Indubitably."

Rory raised her eyebrow. Indubitably? Irrefutably? Maybe Logan was right and she was misjudging them entirely.

She grinned mischievously. "A Bertha story, huh? Pray tell."

"Logan's really good at pool, right? It's a smokescreen trick of ours, we go to a bar, we act like we suck, some fellas there 'bully' us into playing with them, and the stakes are always high, right?" Colin began.

"So," Finn continued. "Logan beat their butts. On top of having their money, they also had to buy the three of us a round of beer each time Logan embarrassingly out-best them, of course."

"Of course," Rory smiled teasingly.

"So while Logan ended up wasted, the bartender's wife Beefy Bertha took a liking to him."

"Uh-oh."

"Uh-oh is right," Finn agreed, chuckling at the memory. "Beefy Bertha was a four-hundred pound nightmare whose enormous hair-covered mole fell unbecoming on her face."

Colin shuddered. "She had a third _chin_, Gilmore."

"But Logan was too wasted to really see it clearly," Finn laughed. "And so by the end of the night, he and Beefy Bertha were dancing up on one of the tables. Poor Beefy Bertha broke it–and took Logan with her. Ended up in the ER, we did-and of course, Bertha asking for his phone number. They ended up as hospital roomies. Bertha's husband wasn't very fond of that."

By the time Logan came back, the three of them were in hysterics, tears of mirth filling their eyes as he sat down hesitantly, looking at each of them suspiciously. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," the three answered immediately.

"I just didn't know... burly women were really your type, Logan," Rory finally said.

Finn spit his drink out, and the three began laughing again.

Logan glared at his two idiotic friends accusingly. "You told her the Beefy Bertha story, didn't you?"

Rory laughed, clamping her hand in her mouth. Logan, who was beet red with embarrassment, mumbled something incoherently under his breath.

"Aww, come on. Did you give her the Master and Commander line too?" Rory cooed, grabbing his cheek.

"Can it, Gilmore."

"The Beefy Bertha story was critical to our objective," Finn answered non-apologetically, winking at Rory who chuckled again.

"Now you're going to hang this over my head for as long as possible, aren't you?" Logan groaned.

"Assuredly," Rory answered chirpily, drinking her coffee with unabashed glee.

"So you forgive us?" Colin answered.

Finn pouted. "Pretty, pretty please."

"We really feel bad you didn't take it so well."

Finn nodded. "But you have to forgive us. Or me, at least. Because, I'm exotic."

Rory laughed. "No foul."

Logan gave her a toothy grin. "Excellent."

"Besides," Colin added, "you got Logan back _good_."

Rory beamed at them, clinking cups with both. "I'd like to thank the Academy."

"Yeah, yeah. Can we move on past this 'Let's-embarrass-Logan-Day?' It's not very fun for me, you know."

Rory grinned, knowing perfectly well Logan wasn't as angry as he was seeming. In fact, as Finn and Colin continued badgering him, he was being a perfectly good sport about it.

Rory wouldn't take those things so lightly. Which meant Logan may have been, up to a certain point, a little correct on his assumption. She was a little too uptight. And if she was finally honest with herself, she liked it.

She loved his never-ending impulses, loved the way that he embraced life, all its changes and always managed to laugh at it. Never once being left to run after it, but always managing to make the world follow him. Logan was quite possibly the only person that could ever out-talk her in the mile-a-minute fashion. Even what she intensely disliked she was attracted to. His recklessness, his presumed charm, even his incredulous arrogance.

Rory wondered what it was like, to be like Logan. A free spirit who through all worries into the wind with abandon.

She smiled into her coffee mug, listening to their inane rambling. Rory was a little surprised. Surprised that their conversations were actually interesting, that they weren't always immature when they were just being themselves. More importantly, that she was having so much fun.

"I need a refill," Colin stated, looking at his empty glass.

"And I concur," Finn added, joining him.

"Having fun, Ace?" Logan asked pointedly, a victorious smile adorning his face.

"Actually, yes."

"No impulse to go book-smelling at the library?"

Rory glared at him. "Actually, no."

"So you accept tomorrow's proposition?" Logan asked triumphantly.

"I'm open to the idea of skating, if that's what you're asking."

"And you confess to having judgmental misconceived notions of my person?"

Rory looked at him dubiously. "See, the jury's still out there on that one."

"It is?"

"Logan, it's no secret you're extremely successful with girls, very well aware of that fact, and use it much to your advantage. You and the female gender go hand in hand. In fact, there could not be a closer relationship then Logan Huntzberger and the female gender. You should even have a tattoo on your forehead that says you're completely and totally enamored with the female gender."

"Must you say female gender so much? It's repetitive and you really did drive home the fact the first time."

"Logan! My point is you just... you look... trampy."

He couldn't stifle his laughter, chuckling out loud. "Trampy? For someone who thrives on enriching her vocabulary, trampy was not exactly what I would have expected from you. If only you would open yourself up to new experiences and new people, then trust me, Ace, you would never regret it! And, for the record, a few girls here and there a tramp does not one make."

"Listen, Yoda-"

"Certainly I'd be a tramp if I had a flavor-of-the-day whose name he does not remember, such as Finn. _Finn's_ a tramp. He even had a thing with a school teacher back in the day. _That's_ a tramp. I am just... widely open to more then one options."

"See, now I can only wonder what led Finn to take that course of action. And the mere thought of Finn getting it on with the school faculty is just all kinds of wrong."

"You're neurotic."

Her eyes flashed something fierce, and Logan took a step back, well aware of the violent spasms she was sometimes afflicted with. "I am _not_ neurotic."

"Woman, you've far passed borderline neurotic. You have surpassed the line, jumped leaps and bounds away from it, escalated to such a position where you have created a _new_ line and stayed there by your lonesome."

Rory stuck her tongue out at him. "You suck."

Logan flashed her a pearly smile. "Admit it, Gilmore, you like having me around."

She didn't answer him, and suddenly became interested in her coffee.

And Logan tried hiding his smile, because her silence was all the answer he needed.


	4. Taking Chances

Okay, here it is. I'm not too sure about how this went about, but I was okay with the overall outcome. I wanted to post this sooner but was giving me a little trouble. I'd like to thank everyone that reviewed, I'm thrilled that you're all enjoying the story. Feedback means the world to me, so thank you!

**CHAPTER #4**

"You gotta give me a second."

"You aren't half-ready yet - even when _you_ said nine sharp."

"How would _you _know that?"

"Because it's common knowledge you know nothing of the world punctuality."

"Your faith in me is overwhelming, Gilmore."

"It comes with the package of being the best reporter ever."

"Ha!"

"Anyone else would misunderstand your gratitude for sarcasm."

"That's cuz it _is _sarcasm, sugar."

"Why did I agree to this madness that you call a date?"

Logan shrugged with a smile. "Can't stay away."

"Ha!"

"Or maybe it's just my irresistible, chiseled unearthly good looks."

"Yup. And I was Cleopatra in my past life, too. Open the door, Logan."

She heard him chuckle, and her suspicions were proved. There was Logan, in his hair-unkempt sleepy glory. While he was wearing his jeans - and Rory had not _ever_ seen him wear jeans, he was sporting a Yale sweater that she doubted was his regular attire.

She turned to him accusingly. "You're not ready."

He scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Would you believe me if I said this was all Finn's fault?"

"No."

"Aw, Ace, you know you've always forgive me."

"Your arrogance is truly astounding," she remarked, removing her scarf as she walked into the dorm, half-surprised, half-impressed by the elegant, but very clearly male dorm that contrasted from hers and Paris'.

"And you've been denying this attraction for to long."

"Have you stopped taking your medication, Huntzberger?"

"Very funny."

"Yes, I do happen to think it's quite hilarious."

"You're the only one laughing."

"Because mentally impeded men usually do not grasp anything other then small words."

"You wound me."

"You'll get over it."

"I think the question is why am _I _pursuing _you?_"

"Who else would take your sorry ass?"

"The love makes my heart feel warm inside."

"Plus the fact that you can't help it. The whole challenge thing? It's in your nature."

"I beg to differ."

She smiled cheekily. "I'm quite sure you beg for many things."

"You're working up my last nerve here, woman."

"Be still, my beating irate heart."

Logan still chuckled. "Okay. I apologize. I do realize I was pestering you for a day out with me and I'm not ready. I'll take no more then fifteen minutes."

Rory nodded, realizing she'd teased him enough - for now. "Okay."

Before Logan could walk back into his room the door knocked once again, and Rory turned to look at him curiously from the couch, hearing a distinct female voice and Logan in what seemed an amicable conversation.

"You wouldn't have any leftover milk, would you?" the female voice asked.

"As a matter of fact, I was just about to have breakfast," Logan answered, his voice becoming louder as Rory noticed him reappear again with a blonde - a pretty blonde - next to him. Rory stood up and walked over to them.

She sized Rory up and right. "And who is your friend?"

Logan grinned and grabbed Rory from the waist, unaware of her shocked face. "This is a friend of mine, Rory Gilmore. Rory, this is Madison. Finn and I met her a few days ago. She lives right across from us at our dorm. A transfered sophomore," he explained with a sexy grin. It's when Rory realized he wasn't trying to purposefully be sexy. Logan was just sexy by nature, and it was something she had noticed as he left the two of them to grab a bowl of cereal. Just who exactly looks sexy eating cereal?!

_Logan Huntzberger, that's who, _Rory thought, grinning at Madison as they shook hands. "It's nice to meet you. You like the building so far?" she asked, trying her best to be polite.

"It seems like a cool place," she answered with a smile. "The company is fabulous."

Rory nodded, looking around the lofty place, realizing she had never been in Logan and Finn's room before. She was snapped back to the conversation Madison and Logan were having when she noticed how Madison was blatantly checking him out as Logan handed her the carton. Rory's eyes narrowed as she noticed Madison twirling her hair in playful manner.

"Rory? Ace?" Logan asked, trying to bring her out of her thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"Madison's having a dinner next week. Said I could bring a few friends," he commented, grinning down at her.

Rory peeked at Madison from the corner of her eye and she could tell she was highly uncomfortable with Connor asking Bella to be his date. She didn't like this new development. "Who'd you have in mind?" Rory asked, flashing him a devastating smile, channeling her mother in such a way Lorelai Gilmore would have been proud

"Is that a yes?"

"That's a yes," she confirmed, not knowing why she wanted the smile off of Madison's face.

Logan turned to Madison. "So we'll see you on Wednesday?"

Madison nodded. "It's a cocktail dinner party. Dress fancy," she advised them. She turned to Rory. "It'll be nice to see you again."

Rory grinned with feign innocence. "Ditto."

----------------------------------------------------------------

Twenty minutes later, a showered and casual looking Logan emerged from the bathroom, his hair still wet. Rory gulped loudly and looked away, standing up hastily. "You ready? she asked, chastisizing herself for sounding so meek.

He flashed her a grin. "Always."

Rolling her eyes the two of them stepped out of the dorm. "You know, I didn't see Colin or Finn back there," she commented as they began to walk side by side.

"You know Finn's antagonism with the sun. He won't be up for another ten hours. And Colin had a weekend trip with his folks."

Rory noticed a petite redhead walking by them, only stopping to sneer at Logan.

"You sure make a lot of friends," Rory observed, biting her lip with interest.

Logan turned to her sheepishly. "She was..."

"An ex."

"How'd you guess?"

"Ah, I know and see all."

Logan shrugged. "Things didn't work out."

"What happened?"

"We were very casual. Until sweet Heather who is always checking up on me… every minute… of every day… all the time. Just to make sure I'm not with another girl, despite the fact we'd agreed it was open relationship."

"So why didn't you just call it quits?"

Logan shrugged again as if it were obvious. "Great sex, no strings. Until she wanted strings."

"You are a _pig_."

Logan grinned. "And you love me for it, doll."

"Whatever."

"There's enough sexual and chemical tension between us to cut with a butter knife, sugar."

"Oh, a pig and mentally deluded as well. Aren't you a combo."

He turned away haughtily. "Do not pretend to know me."

She snorted. "Please. I know you better then you imagine."

His eyes twinkled. "I think I know more about your family then you do."

She laughed and turned to him giddily. "You know what? That's probably true. That's not fair. I mean, I want to know a lot about you too, ya know."

He laughed back at her. "What can I say? I find you utterly fascinating."

She mocked herself, making a bad face to prove her point. "_Puh-leeze."_

"Seriously! You're a contradiction sometimes, an enigma the other. It's all a mystery to me. You're sometimes a mystery to me. I like trying to find out."

She had to laugh again. "So I'm like a game?"

He grinned. "More like pleasant company."

She pursed her lips and turned away, giving him the perfect oportunity to take a peek at her face. He hadn't lied. Sometimes she'd look at him with her big blue eyes, look at him in such a way that he was sure she hid some incredible secret, to both him and the entire world. And her eyes would laugh at the ruse they put out to the people around her, and it only made you want to look deeper into them. And he might not decipher her, and it only made him more intrigued.

"I'm serious, I want to know more about you," Rory insisted.

"What do you want to know?"

"Anything."

Logan sighed, shifting gears on the car before his eyes trained back into the road. "You know, when you think of rich families you immediately assume that they're never there for their kids, or the father's a jerk that controls your every move and the mother just wants you to marry well," Logan stated, smiling softly. "And in some, it's true. I've been pretty lucky, Ace. While I didn't spend all that much time with my parents, I can't really complain. My mom would always get so mad because my father enabled my every move. He didn't have the heart to scold me."

Rory chuckled. "Not even when you sunk a yacht?"

Logan glared at her mockingly. "Oh, believe me. He was livid. Pounded his fist on a wall and I swore I was a goner," he confided. "But me and my brother, we never felt asphyxiated by family tradition. I never felt manipulated by choices. I was given free will. He always made it clear that my future was my choice, and I thank him for that."

"You always wanted to attend Yale?"

"I was proud of my father," Logan admitted, a sheepish look on his face. "I remember being ten years old sitting in his office wearing a Yale cap. Even then I said I was going to Yale. I was never coerced into it. Perhaps I needed more discipline, or so mother has often remarked. But my dad always told her that if he'd been stern, I wouldn't have turned out as I did."

Rory heard the affection in his voice and smiled. 

---------------------------------------------------------

"It's a skating rink," she stated.

"Boy, you're sharp there, Ace."

She glared at him. "What I meant was, this was your idea of a fabulous day? Ice-skating?"

"Why not?"

"And here I thought for you a day of leisure meant a private plane on New York to catch the opera," Rory drawled.

Logan just grinned good-naturedly at her jabs. "Been there. Done that."

"I'm not going to torture you by taking you to the opera. I do want you, you know."

Her eyes shot up towards him, deer-caught-in-the-headlights. "You… you want me?"

"God, what do you think I've been doing all this time?"

"You mean the shameless flirting, the oh-so-obvious innuendos and the many flowers that currently are restocked in my dorm?"

"…yeah."

"I thought..."

"What? You thought what?"

"I thought you did this all the time."

He had the decency to look hurt. "Really."

"And, well, I didn't… I thought I was just…"

"Another brunette on my scoreboard?" Logan asked venomously. She'd never heard so much anger and hurt in his voice, directed at her. "I'm leaving," he announced, though he made no move to leave.

She stared at him, face full with confusion.

He nodded, attempting to control his feet. "This is me. Leaving."

Logan didn't even take two steps when he was already whirling around, his finger pointing at her shakily. "I don't understand you! You seem to understand me, you seem to want to help me, you seem to enjoy my company, yet you can't seem to comprehend that I like you? God forbid you actually gave people a chance to prove you wrong. God forbid you actually loosen up and have a little fun on what's only the best years of your life!"

"How dare you assume that I am not enjoying my years at college just because I don't go to every party or screw the first warm body that I find - "

"It is NOT like that. It didn't… it doesn't mean anything!" he protested feebly, helplessly.

"That doesn't excuse it," she said sadly. "The Madison girl? The redhead that sneered at us? This just reminded me of who you are, and what you do. Logan, you take any girl that you can get and then you just leave them behind. The more the merrier. Out with the old, in with the new, right? I mean, the fact that I turned you down must have been some sort of challenge. I mean, you just kept coming back for more because God knows that the Don Juan wasn't used to being said no to. Another trophy in your case? That is _not _who I am."

"I never once thought of you like that!" he yelled fiercely. "You mean more then that! You _are_ more then that."

She flinched, immediately stopped pacing, turned around to face him, looking inside his soulful, amber eyes and trying to see if he was being honest or not-she honestly didn't know anymore. Tired, she sat down on the bench, the skates hitting the ground and sighed. "Logan, I just-I don't trust you. And I don't trust myself _with _you."

"What does that mean?" he demanded, his face displaying the hurt he felt.

"It means that I don't trust you not to hurt me, and I don't trust myself not to see it."

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose with exasperation. "Lorelai Gilmore you are the most stubborn woman I have ever encountered," he declared. "I understand why you don't trust me. I really do. I mean, I get it. I haven't been the most honorable guy around, and I've been with… with a few girls."

Rory snorted.

"The reason I try isn't because I see you as some sort of challenge, though I admit your total disdain for me intrigued me. Everything else - the prank at the psychology class, while badly executed... it was just because I like you, Ace."

She bit her lip, trying hard not to smile. His eyes were boring into hers, his hand was clasping gently at hers, the words seemed the make her heart swell and her fury fade. "Don't you get it, Logan?" she teased, shaking her head. "The days I like you best are the ones when you _don't try."_

The way he looked at her... Her knees buckled, her eyes went dreamy, and she was reduced to a speechless, mere puddle in his hands.

She did not want to get hurt. She was insanely attracted to him, cared about him faults and all, almost didn't care about his man-whore status, wanted to throw caution into the wind and embrace his offer without abandon. But a part of her, the big part of her that didn't want to get too close to anyone, realizing she'd get in deep-hell, she already _was_-and she knew she'd never be able to pull herself up and she would never want to.

He was fast on his feet, his arm snaking his way into her waist, pulling her flush to him. He leaned down, capturing her lips with his. She snaked up her arm in his hair as she pulled him down to her, prodding him to deepen the kiss, both putting in all they yearned, all they had longed for. Skin met skin, lips joined and explored and pleaded. Rory sighed into him. Deliciously euphoric. It was flesh, it was emotion - it was both. Crushing her body to his she opened her mouth to him slowly, hesitantly, until she met him half-way, slow, breathtaking strokes of tongue that made her body feel weightless.

"Maybe it would be best to admit to you that you were right," she continued, lips fluttering against his with the movement. "You were right about me never taking chances," she continued with panged forlorn. "I hide behind my books, I hide behind what I've considered intelligence, all because I'm too scared of those moments, those minutes that I haven't lived. I don't even know what they are, what they'd feel like, and still I deny myself from them because I don't like change."

"Take a chance with me, Ace."

It scared her. Every time she was kissed... With Dean she'd run, with Tristan she'd run, with Jess she'd run...

Logan made her want to stay.

He looked at her gently, smiled at her reassuringly. "Take a chance," he repeated simply.

"Okay."


End file.
